Falcon's Desire. Denise Lynn
She jerked away from him. “You should not be here. Be gone.”
“’Tis my greatest wish to be gone from here.” He looked at the door and snapped his fingers before looking back at her. “I willingly make you a deal. Have your guards release me and I will disappear from your life.”
She glared up at him. “You know I will not do that.”
After sighing loudly, Rhys shrugged. “Then I will be content to be your honored guest at this meal.”
Lyonesse narrowed her eyes as she glanced at the chains binding his wrists and ankles. She kept her voice low while agreeing, “Very well, ’tis not as if you can do much mischief with the jewelry you now wear.”
She signaled for Howard. “Count Faucon will be joining us for the meal.”
Rhys noted that the captain had enough decency to look ashamed. “Milady, I—”
Lyonesse cut him off with a wave of her hand. “It matters little, Howard. He is here and will be my guest. I am certain his presence will cause little harm.”
She looked back at Rhys and added, “Since I have already invited him, I doubt that he will decline my offer and return to his cell. However, should he think to try anything foolish, I would be delighted to have him become the main course.”
Ah, yes, it was going to be a grand meal. Amused, Faucon followed her retreating form to the table on the raised platform at the head of the hall and took the only seat available—the one next to her on the bench.
He tried to ignore the large tapestry hanging behind the table. The stunning needlework depicted a lion and his lioness, staring out as if guarding those seated below. A brief chill raced up his back and lifted the hairs on his neck. For a moment, Rhys wondered if this is what prey felt like right before an attack.
Howard mumbled curses as he secured Rhys’s leg shackles to the bench before taking a position against the wall behind them. Rhys wanted to laugh at the absurdity. What would he do in a hall crowded with Lyonesse’s men?
They were everywhere he looked; seated at the many trestle tables scattered about the great hall, standing in small groups alongside the whitewashed walls, leaning against arched support beams and lounging by the open fire off to one side. No, he would do nothing to incite those gathered for the meal.
He turned his attention back to his prey and touched the finely woven linen sleeve of her gown. “Ah, but were I to leave, I would not be able to tell you how the color of this gown makes your eyes sparkle like gems.”
She leaned away from him. “And I would not have to listen to your silly lies.”
He trailed his fingertip up the back of her arm to stroke a ribbon entwined in her loosely braided hair. “Or that your hair would be a magnificent silken veil were it loosened from its confinement.”
Rhys leaned closer, ignoring her soft gasp of shock at his familiarity, and touched the jewel-encrusted gold torque around her neck. “If it were not for me, you would never know that this collar and your hair should be your only adornment.”
He lowered his voice. “Just envisioning the sight could make any warrior wish to take you somewhere private to see if your beauty did indeed match his dreams.”
Her flaming face, blazing eyes and sudden intake of breath should have prepared him for the slap that landed on the side of his face.
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